


Spark Deep

by libbyluvs



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Possible Possibilties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbyluvs/pseuds/libbyluvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's the worst thing you've ever done?" </p><p>"Me? I've done many things..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue, Guilty as Charged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rampantidiocy18](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rampantidiocy18).



> Chapter note: The lined in sentences in this chapter are conversations of the past held between two bots each time. You'll find out which bots later. (you can propably guess a few accurately. And they are all being remembered during the trial in this chapter and greatly affect the actions of the main bot in this chapter. You won't understand lots of it... that's the point, you'll find out gradually through the fic.
> 
> …... I hope you enjoy this. My heart was doing a crazy dance the whole time I wrote it.

'What's the worst thing you've ever done?'

'Me? ..I've done many things...'  
______________________________________  
Mechs, femmes, bots, Cybertorians, they surrounded him. Metal frames harboring strength, power, sentience, and a piece of Primus himself: a spark. They all had bodily functions with needs, mental faculties they honed for their preferred purposes, and the drive to live, experience, and thrive. Just like him, right? Never! These living beings, crowding him in with no spare room for breath, could never be like him! He wouldn't allow it...

Settling... ..ridiculous..

..pompous..

..sentimental...

..self-appreciative... ..Auto-fools!

Surely condemned for the red design painted onto their chassis', these whelps were Autobots, his benevolent hosts for this horrid evening.

He stood straighter and smirked smugly to his own self. That's right, they are Auto-scum, and he, a Decepticon. Above them, better than.  
________________  
'Tell me a story.'

'What kind of story?'

'One about you.'

'…...No.'  
___________  
It wouldn't settle down long enough for him to collect himself. Highly bothered and full of complaints his spark decided the best coarse of action was to fritz out in it's protective casing, signaling the obvious danger of his current whereabouts, and hammering forcefully at the seam that could grant it's freedom. Instantly he became irritated.

He would appear as no less than the cool exterior of indifference while amongst these bots, and with unperceived jolt sent a scolding shock to his spark chamber, stilling the life force inside into passiveness. He was handling this situation processor style this time. If he had listened to his cold logic before instead of yielding to the foreign desires and reasoning's of his spark, he wouldn't be in this mess right now, under this nauseous orange ceiling, chained as a prisoner of infamous caliber, closed off from the exempting blue of his precious sky. The jet shuddered and cringed inwardly. He thought he could have lasted longer than this before he began caving into the morose panic of Seeker-claustrophobia.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
'There is brightness bordering on insubordination in your petty optics, my little flyer. It will be my deepest pleasure to snuff it out.'

'I'd never-!'

'One day, pretty bird, you will look up at me with dull, helpless optics, and in that moment I will own all of you. Like the rest of them'.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
It seemed like the whole crew of the Ark were at present for his... trial. They were at war for fragging sakes, had been for many a mega-vorn! And in times of war any charges counted against him should be completely nullified. Scrap, they were suppose to have just tossed him in a cold Autobot cell. Such treatment was befitting a prisoner of war, because that's precisely what he was, a P.O.W. This 'trial', as they were adamant to label it, reeked of Pit rot.

The prisoner shifted around in his bonds in agitation. Idiots. This is exactly why a faction of 'rouge' bots had struck out against the senate in the very beginning. If the members of the Autobot council had but kicked the habit of unconstitutionally twisting the rules to their benefit and stuck to the written laws of Cybertron, undoubtfully, thousands of bots could still be accounted for this cycle. No cause for grief and the burdening strife brought by the carnage the Decepticons wrought.

Nope. The Auto-fragers were just the same as they'd always been. Just as sleazy, self serving, and assuming as the day they'd been assembled. They disgusted him with their more-righteous-than-thou antics. That and they refused to just give up... or deactivate, truthfully he'd settle for either. But that was beside the immediate point.

The problem being- what agitated him so, was the fact that they were at war, Autobot vs Decepticon, and yet these imbeciles, who insisted on calling him citizen were about to judge him as though the times were under normal circumstances, as if it they were on a peaceful Cybertron and everything up until this point was mute. It was totally rigged and with the backwards way they were handling his case... he would be deactivated and junked by sundown. Now he could take hits, growled out insults, spittle in his optics, confinement in a rusty brig, and he even wouldn't mind a side order of torture. But, this!?

Hateful crimson optics shifted up to stare at the leading bots behind the stand. Sitting above him wearing their haughty facade like stupidly painted masquerade visors, looking down on him with their knowing sneers and preordained votes. He could just smear their own cycling energon into their face plates.

An uncomfortable weight binding his servos reminded him how impossible such a satisfying feat was. 'Citizen' huh? Then why the shackles?  
_____________________  
'Are you scared?' 

'Will it hurt? '

'You want me to lie?'

'If it isn't too difficult, some deception would be great right now.'

'I...don't want to lie to you- at least not anymore.'

'Then don't.' 

'It's going to hurt.'

'Hold me then.'  
____________________  
The bound mech glared unabashedly at the SIC of the Autobots. The Paraxian stood on a raised platform before him. This bot's designation, Prowl, wasn't it? Yep, it only took three astro-seconds for the chained seeker to confirm that he despised the other bot. His hatred was not warranted because of the glossy red symbol displayed proudly on Prowl's white chest, but for the lofty air in which the slagger carried himself. The despicable bot regarded the Decepticon with mocking optics and sniffed, finding the seeker distasteful. So he lifted his right servo to optic level and gave the prissy aft the finger. Prowl pretended not to notice and motioned for the scattered whispering to cease for the proceedings.

Addressing all in attendance, the SIC opened his mouth and with these words began the trial, "All rise for the respectable Prime."

Mechs from his every side rose to their pedes in unison, giving the jet a flaring feeling of entrapment. If he thought it was bad before it was downright terrifying now. His processors reeled from the near impossible task of trying to scan everybot, their weapons systems and their ranges, their models, and overall perniciousness. His knee joints threatened to give him trouble as the ache to fly above them all and find a safer location took hold and caused him to quake. Their proximity was overwhelmingly too close and an unintentional chirp of distress left his unfaithful lips. He was rooted to the ground by a long chain attached to the metal clamp fastened around his waste. There was no way out of this.

The revolting ground pounders were close enough that by stretching any few inches they would brush against his precious wings.  
____________________________________________________________________  
'What about these, little liar? Shall I take these? Rip them right off.'

'N-no! I mean p-please my lord! I beg you, don't!'

'Why ever not?'

'I need my wings!'

'Not where your going if you screw this up, but just for you, a quick reminder of who runs this boat.'

'Aaaahh!'  
_______________________________  
He pulled his wings as near each other as possible. There was a faint clink and the tips of his wingspan were pressed together. There, that was the only preventive measure he could take, but it gave him a small thrill of pride. They hadn't been able to offline his lovelies, he could still move them at will.

Somebot behind him chuckled. If they had been anywhere else and at any other Primus forsaken time the Decepticon would have turned around and given the observant fragger a more substantial reason to be making noises at his Pit blessed trail. Instead a menacing growl ripped through his vocalizer, clearly meant for the nameless mech behind him.

"Prime looks nervous." said a voice that could easily be identified as the irritating slighter who had laughed at the seeker's discomfort.

"Well, it's his first time as ruling mech. He has the ultimate say in the final sentencing and he's used to just dishing out consequences. Now he has to tip-pede around a jury." a second voice explained to the first.

"Tip-pede? Cmon' Jackie, we all know how everybot feels for this scrapper," a blunt didgit poked the aerial bot in between his shoulder plates, extracting a low hiss, "Every mech and femme here would gladly lend a servo to drag him to the Pits."

Anger heated the prisoner's circuits and his vents let out a short puff of steam.

Another chuckle.

Dam them, Autobots! With focused effort his composure was regained quickly. He frowned, these bots were beneath him and he would proclaim Soundwave the superior mech before he stooped to their level and dignified that spiteful remark with a response. He figured they wanted a negative reaction out of him, they desired a scene. They could flap their lips in vain all they wanted, for they would receive nothing of the likes from him.

Instead of giving into the bait he looked to the silent semi taking a seat at the focal position as ruling mech in the makeshift courtroom that had, until recently, been a simple training room. The usually vigilant Prime seemed slightly off, his optics glazed over by unseen thoughts, his frame tense, and resting on the very edge of his seat. The seeker scoffed. Dum-aft behind him couldn't read body language for all his energon. Optimus Prime was distracted, not nervous. This did little to assure the accused that the Prime's well known sweet and charitable nature would influence a softer sentence and help him ultimately avoid deactivation. He lost all hope. He wanted to stamp his pedes and wail in frustration. Had it been prudent he would have stuck out his glossa at the daft throng of clueless Auto-scum and curse them, screaming, 'Your sorry excuse for a leader can't even function long enough to oversee my case! They must be scraping the bottom of the gutters for Primes nowadays if this is the best you've got. This bogus trial is overstepping war-time mandates! This. Is. Against. Cybertorian. Code!' He would have said that. If his fate wasn't clutched so securely in their filthy servos he would let them have it!

If... but he was at their mercy, and they could do whatever they pleased with him, lawful or not. And he was more than sure not one of his comrades could care less. His CPU could be offlined permanently and his spark smothered out and the only things that would remember his passing without relief were the stars. The same shining lights that were present at his birth would be there for his death and for all their celestial glory they could not help him. It wouldn't matter if they remembered anyway, who would they tell? Each other? What was the point when they were all there. He felt his throat go utterly dry and his tanks churn. He was expendable. Destined to be forgotten. Meaningless. Nothing.  
_____________________  
'Why do you bother?'

'Because, that's who I am. It's what I do, what I've always done. I can't hate anything or anybot. You wouldn't understand.'

'This doesn't change a thing'

'I love you too, big guy.'

'Hold your glossa or I'll rip it from your mouth!'  
__________________________________________________  
"You may retake your seats." Prowl said with the tone of one bored out of their sockets. "Please remain quite whilst the charges are read..."

Which of the many atrocities that the flyer had played a direct servo in conducting could they nail him with that hadn't pertained to the limits of the battle field?

"...For the crime of trafficking sparklings: forty counts."

What!? Optics wide and spark racing, he gaped at the intelligence officer. Not true! He'd blast a hole through his chest plates before ever even thinking to consider thinking of committing a wrong so loathsome. The court had barely been in true session for a sec and already things were being blown way out of proportion. He recalled the only time he had ever been involved with sparklings and that was when he had, by sheer happenstance, stumbled upon a sorry bunch of homeless mechlings, cowering together in a dirty heap behind a rundown energon station. Back then he had been more ruthless and uncaring, but he sure as Pit had done right by them because no sooner had he set optics on them had he escorted (sneaked) them onto base, and, in the inclosed safety of his quarters, ensured that they were fueled; from his own pump, Primus dammit! Of course not all of the little sparks survived, and the few that did now had the purple markings of a Decepticon branded on their frames, but he'd helped them, saved them. He knew their designations by spark and two of them he had the honor of sharing a trine bond with. He could not be defined as a goody-goody-Mr.-Honorable by any fabrication, but he most assuredly wasn't a fully fledged, conniving badbot! And forty counts? What a stretch!

"...For the maiming of one, Skyfire, while under a truce of ceasefire: 12 counts."

Holy, Primus... that was low... That whole situation had been- IS -dodgey. The big shuttle had just as much baggage to claim for that flight as he.

"...For minor jumping of one, Ironhide, without a threat of bio-contamination, which is the only exception for such an act (see pg. Forty-five of The Code): forty counts."

The stasis cuffs really started to feel their weight right then and as he listened to the SIC's droning voice the convicted Con's optics dimmed, heavy with despair. The Autobots bore no intentions of letting him drag himself away from this one. They were pulling all the cables and lies in the datapad. ...The jet, orded on a mission to attain any and all information feasible, couldn't plead innocent for this charge... but hadn't saving the weapons specialist in the process earned him any alleviation of counts at all? If it mattered in the slightest the Autobots would be happy to know that the seeker had taken a royal beating for letting the red mech go.

A hundred counts is all that is required to seal a deactivation sentence. And he was up to ninety-two.

"...And finally..."

Only eight more counts and he was a dead mech.  
________________________________________________________________________________  
'No! No, stay with me! Don't you dare dim those optics! Don't you fragging dare!'

'…..hmm?.. Wa' you say?'

'I'm taking you home, back to the Ark!'

'…..l-lu...v.. you.'

'NO!'  
_____________  
Prowl's thin metallic lips seemed to take an eternity to form the last words. Every circuited fiber of the doomed mech's being rode on the thin line of fast fading hope. The room spun and his helm swiveled almost drunkenly as he fought to follow every consonant and syllable slithering out out of the curved mouth. Not one thing he could have had the foresight to take precautions for prepared him for the damning confirmation of his guilt.

"...For the malicious hacking of one, Bumbl-"  
________________________________________________  
'What's the worst thing you've ever done?'  
_____________________________________________  
The jet's spark cried out in anguish. With shuddering revulsion and self-loathing he crashed to the floor, bowing his helm till it touched the cold tiles. He could no longer pretend and kid with himself. He didn't care what they did with his no good life anymore. He'd hold the cannon to his helm and pull the trigger himself. Dry sobs racked his bent frame as he wept to the stars.

"G-guilty," He managed to choke, agreeing to all the accusations regardless of their actuality, "A-all of it. I did i-it all. I-I-... Do with me as y-you wish."

A startled courtroom of Autobots found themselves staring in shock at the greatly feared Decepticon, renouncing his innocence from his kneeling position on the floor. He held nothing back, all the pent up anger, pain, and hurt from orns of stubborn endurance and self-justification came out in a mindless flood of wails and shrieks.

"B-bumbleb-b-ee-... I-I'm sorry! I'm so s-sorry!... F-forgive m-me.."  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
'Seeing it now, you wretch? Your nothing now, lower than the organics you squish under your pedes. Lower than dirt, lower than me.'

'Do you see me caving in for a astro-second?'

'He told you different... He said he forgives you.'

'…...'

'He's an Autobot, and you know what Autobots do best?'

'…...'

'They lie.'  
_______________  
His CPU crashed and a tortured scream ripped from his vocalizer, scaring all the bots around him. As he surrendered to forced recharge one of his last coherent thoughts was that Megatron had finally done what he'd promised. What he had been aiming for, for vorns... .. a broken Starscream.  
_________________________  
'Doesn't he believe me?'

'It's not a question whether he believes you.'

'Then why won't he look at me?'

'Because he will never forgive himself.'  
__________________________________________


	2. He's Always Slagged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Screamers' always slagged.

Vast enough to blanket an entire world, possessing wild strength that stills and strikes as it pleases, playful to a fault, quick to forgive, slow to forget, easy and challenging all at the same time was the sky. She- that’s what he'd elected to call her -was his haven. She enjoyed his company most of the time and at others barely tolerated his presence- this inclined Starscream to joke that they were old lovers. They knew each other and when he joined Her under the atmosphere the jet knew a rare peace. Which was something he needed badly right now. 

The air commander had been rushed when he'd fled the Nemesis, profane curses and promises chasing him through corridors, down twisting halls, and past smirking Cons, all the way to the entry dock. Fear owning his desperate spark, and without clearance, Starscream overrode the outer door and took to the sky like a suffocating fish flopping back into the sea. 

Safe in Her assuring ethereal arms he flew as far as he wished, for as long as he wanted. For when he returned, his pride between his legs no doubt, no amount of theatrical groveling could spare him from a good slagging. Yes, Megatron, never one to disappoint, would put on a tremendous performance featuring a tale of betrayal, revenge, and triumph with Starscream as the star of the show. But that would be then, plenty of time to chew digits over his consequence later. For the present he would lose himself in carefree flight. 

Starscream grinned invisibly into the symmetrical barrel roll, and tucked in his wings for that extra oomph. Other models would have been spun dizzy, but not him. Here he was at home, was at his best. In the sky, flying.

His horizontal spiral gradually slowed till, with the grace that comes from being the best, he curved his nose down to control the direction in which he plummeted. The wind roared in his audios, the sinking thrill of courting gravity took hold, and just as the dare devil had hoped, forced him to forget everything for a blissful drag of time. Not anything could touch him while in Her domain.

Changing into his bipedal mode, he free fell. The solid green of earth's exterior skin, while still a long ways below him, rapidly rushing to collide with the spread-eagle seeker. A passing thought fascinated Starscream's better logic and he dallied with the idea for half a click. What if he let his front thrusters stay stalled in standby? Let the rich earth finally claim the deathly kiss he denied it with every crash he averted? 

A click is a relevantly short time to lose oneself in a slip of madness and as the clock ticked over onto the next decimal so did the rash urge to tempt fate. 

He'd fragged up, his demise imminent, but surely there were prettier ways to go. Splatting into the surface of an organic planet (organics: hate them) wasn't exactly the most dignifying of deactivations. 

Before the earth could stake it's claim Starscream kicked on his thrusters and swiveled upwards, the wild grass grazing his pedes as he leveled out. Finding a suitable outcropping, overlooking a stretch of heath, to rest on the drained mech leaned back on his blue enameled hands and let out a long ex-vent. 

Megatron was all out livid this time. The jet could feel his ire and strangling claws all the way from here and he shivered. He could have reacted differently, a little more obeisant and a tad less suicidally. The possibilities that he'd finally crossed the line and pushed the warlord into delivering a slow, grisly termination were lamentably not in his favor. While Starscream would pretend not to care, secretly in a data build up buried behind his primary memory circuit board his fear kinked the lines and fouled his mood with grim apprehension. To think he could have... 

No. Dwelling in the past all but guaranteed defeat. Starscream repelled the images his processor, once optimistic and driven with knowing purpose, now irreversibly contaminated with missed chances and dirtied dreams, tried to bring to light. He didn't know any better when he was first out of the academy. Young and full of prideful hopes and ambitions, willing to give his best to something important, a worth while cause. (as long as it elevated him in the ranks) He'd thought he found it when those deceptively promising, gray lip components whispered undaunted praises and of the irresistible future he could have, and all that was required was a little pain and a purple brand.  
He hadn't known any better. He did now. 

Speaking of now, Starscream was slagged, but he believed it was worth his new prized possession. A sudden giggle left his voice-box and he trilled evily. He'd recorded that absolutely scandalized expression on Megsie's faceplate when he realized the possible fatality of what Starscream had done. It was priceless.... 

Two breems prior....

One more click and Megatron could have had Prime in his servos. One more measly astrosecond and the Autobots would have fallen to their knees as he threatened their cooperation with the decapitation of the Matrix bearer's helm. But of course, his air commander's concentrated null ray was thrown off it's locked target... by his own wing mate. Unacceptable, unforgivable, so very punishable.

“Skywarp, you daft-helm! You were ordered to bank on the left not th-” Starscream was unable to finish his shrill lecture as the fist around his neck cables complicated speech a bit. Kicking wildly, he was lifted off the dry ground and brought to level with lazer burnt chassis. 

An angry sharp face dominated the choking jet's optic range, “Starscream the defeat of the Decepticons today is entirely yours to bear. Due to the incompetence of your lackey, which you have failed to bridle, our whole operation was squandered.”

Starscream's intake burned as if by hot acid and he squawked indignantly. Oxygen wasn't needed for sustaining spark, but a crushed cortex cord was definitely critical, “Eeyagh! Ffpht- ngh!”

Megatron inwardly keened in delight, loving the way Starscream's mouth plates flattened and twisted in a gross picture of pain, much like the expressions he made in berth, “What was that? I can't quite make out your whiny babbling!”

“Ngh- 'y lord- iiiee n-nawt- m- 'y fault- pleeeeaaasse!”

It wasn’t his fault, Starscream vainly tried to explain. He was flying his best out there this time. No intentions of backstrut blasting, or ulterior motivations for actually applying his unmatchable skills. The seeker was genuinely, whole-sparkly fulfilling his duty on the battlefield. Skywarp's com link was sometimes flimsy after multiple warps in synchronization, Starscream had no control over that and Megatron knew it. 

“Yes, Starscream, I had already taken it into account that you'd presume as much,” Megatron drawled, “And this here,” there was a painful scraping sound as Megatron forced his SIC's left null ray from its holster, “is the lesson you will remember for sullying your rank! You're always screeching about deserving authority and greater responsibility, but when it comes down to bolts you can't control a handful of seekers. Won't even recognize your wingmech's error as your own. Being his commanding officer, his mistakes are a reflection of your sorry leadership. Your team fails, you fail, and when you fail Starscream...,” The black constricting fingers clamped down even tighter, “Well, I do believe you are well acquainted with the consequences.”

He dropped the whimpering seeker to the ground and with a satisfied sneer snapped the the weapon's barrel in half. Starscream's optics widened and a horrified shriek rent the air causing a conjoined wince from the cons gathered around to watch the screamer get pounded. The injured jet scrambled to his invention and tried vainly to realign the severed metal pieces.

His first big success. The first ever, independent of a generator, circuit stalling apparatus. Starscream had slaved over this metal for an orn to create a weapon that could change the tide of victory without blowing scrap up. A scientific break through. Starscream's big break that had all the finest schools groveling and begging for his attendance at his pretty pedes. 

His null ray.... 

“Megatron, you fool! That was made of a material extralocal to earth! I don't have a welding string of sufficient strength to repair this!” Uncaring of his leader's wrath Starscream wailed and cursed loudly, “You slagger! One of these days you'll pay for everything!”

He meant it. By Primus, he meant every word.

Megatron laughed harshly and delivered a solid kick to the venting seeker's cockpit, “Is that right Starscream?” 

Starscream's slender frame was sent twisting backwards by the force of the blow and he landed on his back strut at an odd angle. His chest plates tightened painfully, pinching conducting wires. He clawed at the burning seams, trying to force them apart and relieve the stinging heat that began to build up in the blocked lines. 

Megatron watched with a detached expression as the jet feebly scraped at the frame of his golden middle, “What will you try this time? Plant fragmenting shards under my berth?”

Starscream shrieked when a gray pede slammed down on his burning cockpit, sufficiently pinning him to the ground.

“Finally get the coding to mech up and fight me in one on one battle?”

The cylinder glass began to crack as pressure was gradually applied.

“We both know you can't do that, so probably something underhanded to match your cowardice.”

The jet grasped the pede with two shaking hands, straining to keep it from breaking through and crushing his spark chamber, “If that's what it takes! I'll do anything, you ungrateful, manipulative reject! I hate you!” 

At this revelation the Decepticon lord's optics thinned, “Starscream...”

“What!?!”

“Report to med bay as soon as you are able to reboot.” His unoccupied pede drew up sharply then swung down diagonally, right at the writhing seeker's black helm. 

“Hu-”

He didn't see it coming and he had a pit of a time scouring his memory banks to remember what happened after he awakened on a medical berth.

O.O

Starscream still had his right null ray, so that was something at least. There was a whole slew of other things that existed to frag around with his life and they were beginning to pile up in a rusted scrap heap. His trine mates were avoiding him, probably because they were embarrassed and ashamed to be associated to him. He'd kept his position as head of the seekers, but his designation had found it's way back on the duty roster. The lowest and most filthy jobs were saved especially for him! Oh, goody... The back of his helm had a descent sized dent and the dum-aft in repairs couldn't bang it out for a whole cycle. Just Starscream's luck. 

A warning beeped, because thanks to Megatron his status screen was busted, alerting him to the absence of fuel in his tank. One more thing to add to the pile: he required a trip to the energon dispensers. Which meant facing a room plum full of snooty cons.

'Primus, if you ever loved me, probably as a sparkling, you'd grant me an invisible paint job.' Starscream offed his optics, spun around in a circle, then onlined them again to look down at himself. 'Nope still pretty red, blue, and white.... slaggit!' He ex-vented heavily and squared his shoulders. If anyone can survive pathetic jives from witless-drone cons he could. With a determined stride the seeker made his way to the mess hall. Not a mech did he see as he walked the gray halls. 'Thank Primus the smallest mercies.' 

Whoever designed the Nemesis had built the mess hall four floors down from the med bay and the trek was a fair one. He was weak enough as was and the added distance and strain on his joints rattle his temper. Starscream swore that if the junker's spark was still lit he'd find out his designation and beat it out himself.

O.O

The mess hall quieted instantly. Many lowered their helms, unable to meet the unwavering glare of the ruthless mech standing ominously tall in the doorway. Somecon's intakes seized and he gagged on his energon ration. Megatron never refueled in the company of his subordinates, until this cycle apparently. Paying them no mind the Walther P38 steered toward a table housing the shrinking frame of his favorite SIC.

He smirked widely when the seeker's intakes hitched and that slender frame shrank away, making him appear even slimmer. Yeah, he had that affect on cons and bots alike. Pulling up a seat, Megatron placed himself between Starscream and the only exit. To give him an idea of the humiliation he was in for Megatron let a frisky pulse of his EM 'feel up' Starscream's. 

'Primus, you never loved me.' Starscream's denta ground together and he lowered his helm to hide the apparent spite in his optics. It would only rile Megatron further. Below the table a blunt pede experimentally nudged against his own. 'Please! Not here. Not now.' 

Steady, rumbling intakes accompanied with the uneasy sloshing of soured tanks were the reigning signs of life in the otherwise silent mess hall. All attention focused on the seeker's situation.

Starscream could could feel piercing optics take a try at drilling through his apprehensive EM field. Time seemed to slow, the coiled tension of the air commander surely visible and rolling off him in forsaking waves. Megatron was here, watching him, touching him. He snuck a glance and immediately regretted it. 

“Unfortunately for my reputation your still functioning, little bird.” Megatron's voice barely above a whisper as the unwanted contact extended up a white thigh, “How gracious of me.”

Little bird....

Uncontrolled rage flash flooded the jet's spark. He shuttered his optics rapidly to keep the energon tears back. He had been young then, full of pride and a weakening eagerness to please, to prove his worth to an advantage taking Decepticon lord. Elegant seeker hands fought the violent urge to lash out, to hurt, to maim anything and everything. Especially the waste of material sitting right across from him. 

Megatron seemed not to notice the change and waved a hand under Starscream's faceplate, his metal foot scraping roughly down, making a squeaking sound loud enough for the others to hear, “Be a good mech and get me a cube Starscream.”

Then began the lewd snickers and comments.

'I'll give him the best cube he'll ever have.' Getting to his pedes, Starscream made for the nearest dispenser. As he passed Megatron by he realized too late he should have walked around the table. Before he could shimmy away his aft received a good halting squeeze. He squeaked at the vise-like grip on his smooth nethers and his faceplate flushed, not like a blushing femme, but a mech on the edge of fatal violence. If anycon said a thing he'd nail the scrapper's codpiece to- 

Reflectors many voices rang out, “Sound like that during interface tight aft?”

He may not know it yet, but Reflector just payed for a VIP seat on the smelter belt. 

Megatron answered for him, “No, he's much quieter.”

Starscream cringed. 'Please... no.'

“It's kind of hard to squeal when your intakes' full.”

It was silent for a few blissful clicks and then... Out right obscene laughs and offers made Starscream want to rip his auduials from his helm. 

'I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. So. Much. You'll pay. For everything.'

Drowning his fellow cons leering voices out he jerked out of Megatron's grip and started to the fuel boxes, his posture straight and glaring down his nasal plate at everycon. Ramjet made a pass at his wings, not breaking stride he blared a wave of precisely what he was feeling at the cone head and the mech swore lowly. No one else tried. Megatron might be high enough to slight the screamer but the rest of this sorry bunch wasn't. Selecting a mellow high grade he filled a cube to the brim with glowing purple energon, deep crimson optics never leaving his leader's scrutinizing faceplate. He stalled for a click before gracefully returning to his seat. 

Megatron seized the offered cube and smirked, “Good mech.”

Starscream said nothing bitingly back at the demeaning words, just watched calmly as Megatron had his fill, indulging in the luminous liquid, all the while staring at the silent jet through the clear cube. As the last of the high grade was drained the Decepticon lord frowned, lowering his cube to peer at the bottom. Small triangular pieces of translucent shrapnel glittered brightly back up at him. 

The gulp was very audible. Optics wide with realization, Megatron gawked at Starscream, “You didn't.....”

Starscream's lips split in a full-plated smile, “Fragmenting shards? You bet your flat aft I did.”

Getting to see Megatron gag and choke before falling into an twenty click, emergency stasis lock while Starscream hightailed it out of there was simply the best.

At the present on the outcropping....

Starscream laughed and laughed and laughed. Holding his sides as he rode out his glitch fit. The way his frame flopped of that stool! Yes, it was marvelously priceless! Although the seeker was confident his little assassination attempt had failed and he would probably be terminated it was well worth it! Sure, he's slagged, but he's always slagged. 

Recovering, Starscream grew silent, shifting his aft to get more comfortable and craned his helm to lose himself to the vision of blue of the sky. The blueness was a well of simple pleasure he could get lost in easily. She was very mesmerizing. Maybe earth wasn't so bad.

A poorly concealed Autobot signature came to his notice from out of nowhere, the EM signal emitting from behind his rocky perch. 

And maybe earth sucked bolts....

Swiftly swinging around Starscream crawled on his knee joints slowly, as to not alert the bot to his presence. As he neared the edge his audios picked up the surprising static of Cybertorian chirps, the sorry crying full of distress, trying to communicate a deep sparkache. Fighting down the ingrained urge to chirp comfortingly back as a creator would to their sparkling, Starscream peeked over the ledge.

Curled up in an upright ball with one servo wrapped around himself and the other wiping furiously at streaming optics was a partially naked mech. That small Autobot scout. Starscream felt suddenly stupid for only knowing him as the 'yellow one'. Ugh, what was his designation? 

What was the Auto-scum doing all the way out here? Starscream had flown quite the distance to get to here and the minibot only had the one grounder alt mode. Out of all the scrubby fields in the middle of nowhere he had to pick Starscream's? The jet couldn't take the other mech with the injuries sustained to his helm and cockpit, not to mention he was down one of his primary weapons.

“I want to go home,” The teary voice called Starscream's attention, “but she isn't there anymore. I'm s-sorry Ironhide. I didn't mean to be this way.”

The little guy's EM was all over the place, fluctuating badly, and his small frame rattled with a fresh wave of sobs. Huh, maybe he was malfunctioning? 

During his raced processing, Starscream's hand was gripping a tad too tightly to the dirt edge of his outcropping and a small amount of sand and pebbles were loosened from the strength of his curled fingers. He watched, very peeved, as the debris fell straight for the horned helm.

Yup, slagged.

**Author's Note:**

> TBC... (because its the first tf fanfic I ever wrote and its getting fucking finished)


End file.
